The Twentieth Day of January

CHAPTER 18

Morton Harper had insisted that the meeting should be held at Langley, and Chief Justice Elliot and Sam Bethel were ferried from Washington by Nolan, who escorted them through the security checks towards the Director’s office.

Elliot held out his hand. “My God, Morton, it’s like a giant public washroom. This place would drive me crazy.”

“Welcome, sir. I guess I’d get dizzy sitting up on your bench a-listening to the mortals down below.”

“Touché,” said Elliot, and blew his nose violently as he looked around the office.

Nolan and MacKay were already at the big table in the corner of the room, and when the salutations were over Harper invited them to sit down. Nolan noticed that this time Harper was at the head of the table.

“Gentlemen, I’ve called this meeting because we now have the evidence that you asked us to obtain. My Secretariat have produced a four-page summary of our findings and there is supporting documentation in your folders. Can I ask you to read the summary before we talk. Take as long as you wish.”

Nolan watched the bent heads. The Chief Justice was underlining with a pencil as if he were reading a brief, and Sam Bethel was getting visibly more angry as he read on. He finished first and looked at Harper, shaking his head in obvious disgust. Then Elliot pushed his glasses back up his nose and leaned back.

“Well, Morton. A cast of thousands. You must be delighted.”

The eagle eyes watched the genuine surprise on Harper’s face.

“That’s not quite the word I would have chosen, Judge.”

“No, of course not. How foolish of me.” He looked across at Mr. Speaker. “What about you, Sam?”

Bethel leaned back. “You know, I sometimes wonder if this damn country isn’t going crazy.”

“Maybe you’re right, Sam. But right now we’ve got to decide what to do about it.” Elliot couldn’t hide his impatience.

Harper put his hands together and Nolan recognized the sign.

“There’s a wide variety of action open to us. Would you like me to go over it?”

Elliot nodded. “By all means.”

“In no particular order of importance, we can do these things. We can leak it to the press and let it go where it will. We can inform the out-going President. We can inform the Secretary of State. We can form an impeachment committee. We can confront Powell, who must be wondering by now where all his friends have gone. We can pass it all to the FBI whose province it really is. Or we can do nothing.”

There was silence round the table as each man wondered if there was yet another alternative. A nicer, simpler one. Nolan wondered if anyone else around the table had thought of eliminating Powell. On reflection he thought it unlikely. MacKay might, but not the others. It was Harper who broke the silence.

“What d’you think, Mr. Speaker?”

“Well, we don’t inform the press, that’s for sure. And we should be causing maximum embarrassment beyond what we have already achieved if we told the present incumbent. There would be an inter-party dogfight. The FBI won’t pick up this hot potato, you can be sure of that. We can’t even consider doing nothing. We’d deserve to be put up against a wall. The only thing possible is to confront Powell.”

Elliot raised his bushy white eyebrows.

“And what do we do if he tells us to jump in the lake, Sam?”

“You show him those bloody pictures of him screwing the girl.”

Elliot turned to Harper. “Has he indicated anything to you about whether you’ll be left at CIA?”

“He called me to a meeting yesterday. Implied that he hadn’t made up his mind yet.”

“Was he suspicious, d’ye think?”

“I don’t think so. He seemed very sure of himself.”

“Did he ask any policy questions?”

“No. He was telling me what it was all about.”

Nolan chipped in. “Say we take it that some sort of confrontation is the only way. What’s our objective? What do we want him to do? And what do we think his reactions will be?”

Sam Bethel belched softly. “Pardon. His reactions are going to be unpredictable. When he confirmed my reappointment he wasn’t the diffident new boy. He was enjoying the power. I even got a few words of advice on handling the House. I’d say his reaction’s gonna be like a Doberman having two pounds of rump steak pulled out of its jaws. He ain’t gonna go quietly. I’d put my silver dollar on that. He could have us all in the pen in hours.”

Elliot was not amused. “Not me, Mr. Speaker. Not me.”

“OK. You can send in the food parcels, Judge.”

Harper spoke softly. “Who’s going to be the one to approach him?”

“Mr. Speaker,” said Elliot.

“The Chief Justice,” said Bethel.

Nolan caught Harper’s eye. “You want to say something, Mr. Nolan?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Carry on, then.”

“It’s quite clear from Dempsey’s statement, and from the scuttlebutt in Hartford that Powell and his wife have been estranged for years. She was totally against him going into politics right from the start. In fact, she wouldn’t have politicians in the house. Dempsey cashed in on this estrangement so that Powell would not have an alternative background. Nothing to fall back on. He was dependent in every way on Dempsey, whether he knew it or not.

“From what I’ve been able to find out it was a normal marriage up to the time Powell stood for the governorship. She met him when he was at Yale and his father still lectures there. It seems she had looked forward to sharing in an academic life. She tolerated him setting up as a business consultant but closed the shutters when he went into politics.

“She co-operated, but not very enthusiastically, during the Presidential election campaign but according to what I’ve gathered from White House security they haven’t been together since the night of the election.”

Nolan paused and Sam Bethel said slowly, “What’s this got to do with the present situation, Nolan?”

“We want him out of politics, and so does she. She could be the one who confronts him.”

Elliot frowned. “You mean tell her about all this, and leave it to her?”

“Not quite, sir. We could give her the pictures and suggest she could save his face. Tell him that if he doesn’t opt out he’ll be impeached or exposed. But we would let him off the hook if she could persuade him to bow out gracefully before inauguration.”

Bethel snorted. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Nolan. The President-Elect announces to the country that because his wife doesn’t like him being in politics he’s decided to throw his hand in. Jesus.”

“Not exactly that, sir. But maybe the Physician to the President does a routine medical check and finds a serious heart condition and after deep reflection the President-Elect steps down for the sake of continuity and the country.”

Bethel sniffed loudly. “And a few months later some press photographer takes a photograph of Powell playing tennis, or jogging or some damn thing.”

“Powell’s own interest would be to play along with the scenario. He’s gone along with Dempsey’s film script, he’d go along with this.”

“What does he do after he resigns?” Elliot looked only mildly interested.

“He lives comfortably and quietly on his presidential pension. A hero and democrat to one and all.”

Bethel looked across at Elliot and said, “What d’ye think?”

Elliot leaned back in his chair, thinking. It was several minutes before he spoke.

“The only alternative is to confront him. And Nolan’s right. Powell’s basically a weak man. He could panic and do something crazy if we put him with his back against the wall. If we leave a door open with the same pressures he might choose to accept the role and go quietly. If Mrs. Powell refused to do this, or tried and failed, then we’d have to meet him head on and let the chips fall where they will.”

Bethel shrugged. “So who tackles the Powell woman who loathes politicians?”

Nolan took a deep breath. “I had in mind that MacKay might do it.”

Bethel frowned. “MacKay? Who in hell’s MacKay?”

Nolan flushed and nodded towards MacKay.

Bethel sighed heavily. “My apologies, MacKay. My mind’s getting bogged down with names.” He shook his head, looking at MacKay. “With all due respect, Mr. MacKay, I don’t see you fitting into this role.”

Nolan interrupted. “I haven’t discussed this idea with Mr. MacKay but he’s the one person who has no axe to grind. He isn’t even an American. And he’s the man who exposed Dempsey. She’ll like that. Any politician starts off with two strikes against him. And it could leave us so that, with Mr. Powell included, only seven people will know what has been done.”

Elliot looked at Harper. “How secure is Mr. MacKay, Morton?”

“Totally, so far as I am concerned.”

Bethel looked at MacKay.

“No reflection on you, mister, but how secure are you?”

“In what way, sir?”

“From what Harper originally told us we may not have spotted this mess if it hadn’t been for you. We’re in your debt but, by God, you know too much. How do we know you won’t talk?”

“What interest would I have in talking, Mr. Speaker?”

“Now, Mr. MacKay. You know as well as I do that you could make several millions out of this story.”

“I am officially seconded to the CIA from SIS. I have signed the Official Secrets Act form. Talking would get me in the Tower of London.”

Bethel looked at Harper.

“Is that the case, Morton?”

“Yes. Anyway, I think Mr. MacKay could have made his millions without even coming over here. The media would have paid for the original tip-off.”

There was a brief silence and MacKay spoke softly to get their attention. He looked at Harper.

“May I make a suggestion, sir?”

Harper shrugged. “By all means. Go ahead.”

“Mr. Nolan will be arranging a deal to get Miss Tcharkova out. They’ve got a man of ours named Kowalski. I’d like him back as part of the deal, and that links me into the operation in an official capacity.”

Bethel was not impressed.

“OK. I won’t pursue the point. By all means write your man into the deal.” He looked at Elliot. “I’ve no objection to Mr. MacKay talking to Mrs. Powell but I’d like a contingency plan in case it doesn’t work.”

Harper nodded. “We’ll plan it carefully, Mr. Speaker.”

Elliot stood up. “How many people outside this room know what’s been going on, Morton?”

Harper raised questioning eyebrows at Nolan.

“Nobody outside this room knows that it goes beyond Kleppe and Dempsey.”

Elliot put his hand on Bethel’s shoulder and winced as he stood up straight. He turned slowly to look at Nolan and MacKay.

“What makes you two think you can do a deal with Moscow? Why are you so sure?”

Nolan looked at Harper who nodded permission.

“There’s three levels where we deal with the Russians. The public one of the media and public statements. The diplomatic one where professionals sort out what the statements really mean, and then there’s an everyday working level where everybody faces the actual facts of life. The Soviets set great store by the first level. The statements, the treaties and the rest of it. Provided that doesn’t get exposed, they work on our level on a routine basis. There’s no problem.”

“But they have spent millions of dollars and years of effort to do this thing. They have now failed and you suggest that they send over a girl and her baby, and a British spy, and we all call it quits. Why should they agree?”

“Because they have failed. They don’t want us to expose what they tried to do and they don’t want us to expose that they failed.”

The old man looked down at the carpet absorbing the words, then he looked sideways at Harper.

“It’s a funny world you and your people live in, Harper. What we have all been concerned with seems earth-shattering to me, but to you people it’s like a couple of insurance companies settling a car accident on a knock for knock deal. Ah well. Keep at it.”

And he walked slowly and uncertainly to the door. He stood there for a moment, his mouth opened to speak. Then he changed his mind, waved his hand and walked out with Bethel.

Harper looked a little frosty, and as the door closed behind them he turned on Nolan.

“You were hinting before the meeting that you thought there was an alternative solution. Nolan. Why didn’t you tell us what it was? Why play the Lone-Ranger bit?”

“I thought you would not want me to mention my alternative in front of the others.”

Harper shifted in his seat. “It didn’t seem to inhibit you, all the same.”

“What was suggested wasn’t the alternative I was thinking of.”

Harper’s eyebrows went up. “And what, pray, was the other solution?”

“That Powell should be killed.”

Harper’s hand was squeezing a fold of his double chin. It stopped, and his eyes closed.

“How right you were, Mr. Nolan. You were well advised to keep silent on that score.”

Nolan turned to MacKay.

“When do you want to go down to speak to Mrs. Powell?”

“Not tonight. I want to sort out what I shall say.”

Harper nodded. “It’s all going to hang on the assessment of the lady; that she still gives a damn for him. If we are wrong on that, then she probably won’t co-operate.”

“Can we arrange special transport and accommodation for her journey to Washington? I don’t want anyone to see her and speculate.”

“Of course. I suggest you go with him, Nolan. Take the big Piper and put her up at a hotel or the house on Virginia Avenue. There are staff and facilities already there. Anything else you want, MacKay?”

“Just one thing, sir. If Powell is persuaded to resign on medical grounds that means he can’t be seen to immediately start earning a living. What financial provision can we offer them?”

Harper leaned forward and shoved a pad across to MacKay.

“Write this down. First of all he would receive the usual presidential pension which will provide him and his family with a very high standard of living. He is likely to earn substantial sums from writing, teaching and lecturing when he has recovered from his medical problems.”

“If the state of his health made it sensible for him to live overseas would he still be entitled to the pension?”

“Certainly.”

“And finally, without giving a specific undertaking, can I take it that there would be no question of leaking details in the future about this operation?”

“It would be impossible, and unwise, to give any written guarantees but, so far as it is possible, a very supportive attitude would be taken by the administration. They would have no reason to behave otherwise.”

“That’s all I need to know, sir.”

Harper smiled. “You sound as if you have started thinking through your proposition to Mrs. Powell already.”

“I have.”

“All I can do is wish you luck.”

Nolan and MacKay were at the door when Harper’s telephone rang. He held up his hand.

“This might be for you, Nolan.”

Harper lifted the receiver and listened. He waved them back into the room and pointed to the chairs. He was listening intently and finally he said, “Send it in to me right away.” He put the receiver back quietly and carefully before he looked up.

“There’s a piece going in the Post tomorrow morning about the CIA investigating politicians in Hartford. They’re bringing in the copy now. The Post have offered us an opportunity to comment.”

There was a knock on the door and a girl brought in a sheet of typed paper. When she had gone Harper read it aloud.

“The heading is ‘CIA investigation in Hartford’ followed by an interrogation mark. I quote. ‘During routine inquiries related to the recent murder in Hartford of a retired trades-union official, his wife, and a secretary in the office of the city’s District Attorney, it became clear that investigations have not been limited to the local police department.

‘In the course of talking with various local citizens it seems that a Washington agency is also investigating the crimes. There are reports that the agency concerned is the CIA and the investigations cover local politicians of the Republican Party and the circumstances of a strike some years ago at the plant in East Hartford of Haig Electronics.

‘So far, the chief of police, J. R. Henney, the president of Haig Electronics, Fred L. Haig, and officials of the District Attorney’s office have refused to comment.

‘With Hartford the power-base of the Powell election campaign, there is speculation that President-Elect Powell could be faced with the embarrassing task of deciding whether some of his local supporters have possibly allowed their enthusiasm to involve themselves with undesirable local elements.

‘The acting White House press officer denied all knowledge of the investigation. A spokesman for the CIA said, brackets, leave blank for statement, brackets off.’”

Harper threw the sheet angrily on to his desk.

“Some bastard is leaking something somewhere. That’s no bloody accident. It stinks of a leak. Any ideas, Nolan?”

“No. They could have found out about me being in the area easily enough. Somebody in the police department could have linked my investigation with the murders, but nobody except Oakes could possibly link me with Powell. And Oakes would lose his Senate seat, his business, and face criminal charges if this came out. I don’t understand it. Who gains any advantage in doing this?”

Harper reached for the telephone.

“It could be that bastard, O’Connor. I can’t believe he would, but there’s only the Democrats that could gain.” He spoke to the operator. “Find me Mr. O’Connor, the Democratic Chairman.”

The call came back almost immediately.

“Mr. O’Connor. That matter we discussed here a week or two back with Salvasan, Elliot and Bethel. You remember?… Yes… There’s a small piece in the Post tomorrow that links our investigation with the Hartford killings and vaguely with Powell… no I don’t think so, we can deal with it… yes. Who have you mentioned it to, may I ask… you’re quite sure of that… agreed… agreed. If anybody pulls the plug on this there will be a lot of bodies go down the pike… I’m sure. I just wanted to hear it from you… of course. Well done… goodnight.”

He slammed down the phone and shook his head.

“No, it’s not him. He doesn’t want to know what’s going on. He’s too shrewd an operator to get involved. Nolan. See what you can find out from the Post. Use Fowler as a contact.” He turned to look at MacKay.

“Maybe you should go tonight?”

MacKay looked at his watch. It was seven o’clock.

“Right, sir. Can your people lay on transport for me?”

Harper reached for the phone.

“Drive him to Dulles, Nolan, and I’ll see what they’ve got to get him to Hartford.”

There were only three men now at the safe-house in Hartford, and as MacKay stood at the window he could see the snow ploughs working to clear the runways at the airfield. Great curtains of snow curved up each side of the yellow machines and more was falling, slowly and quietly; building up into hillocks and valleys where the terminal buildings diverted the wind. It was the 23rd of December and it was going to be a white Christmas. But it wasn’t much of a present that he was bringing for Laura Powell and her young son. Maybe she had had enough of Powell and wouldn’t give a damn what happened to him.

He turned away from the window; the light was going now and there were things he had to do. He bathed and shaved and put on his blue suit and the black brogues. On the table he laid out Dempsey’s report, and in a separate envelope the photographs of Powell and the girl. He hoped he wouldn’t need to go that far. They could be counter-productive.

Nolan had gone off to the Powell house to ensure that there were no problems with the White House security men for MacKay’s visit. He radioed back to the safe-house that Laura Powell was not expected to leave the house that evening.

The snow was deep and crisp as Nolan’s driver came on to the side-road but on the main road it had packed down from the flow of vehicles and the snow tyres got good purchase on the road surface.

The Powell house was on a small private development of ranch-style bungalows. There were other cars parked outside the house and half a dozen men stood near the white picket fence. MacKay could see at least two men at the side of the house. Somebody had swept a narrow pathway up to the front door. There were lights on in the house and MacKay could see the lights of a Christmas tree in the front room.

Nolan introduced him to the chief of the guard detail, who walked with him in single file to the door of the bungalow. He rang the bell and they both waited, their breath misting in the cold air.

An elderly man answered the door. It was Laura Powell’s father.

“Mr. Bridger, this is Mr. MacKay. He’s been sent from Washington to see Mrs. Powell. We’ve checked him. He’s OK.”

The old man looked over his glasses at MacKay.

“You’d better come in, mister. She’ll be down in a moment. She’s just taken Sammy his medicine.”

MacKay shook his coat outside the door. “Nothing serious, I hope.”

The old man showed him into the room with the Christmas tree.

“It’s his chest. He’s subject to bronchitis. He’s much better today. I’ll get her. Sit down.”

MacKay automatically looked around the room, but he absorbed very little. His mind was on his mission and suddenly it seemed all too possible that she could tell him to go to hell. Then the door swung open and she was there.

She was prettier than he had expected but the shadows under her eyes were not from make-up.

She was wearing a black wool-knit dress with pearls and looked more calm and capable than he had expected. And younger, too.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

He stood up. “MacKay, ma’am. James MacKay.” For a split second he wondered why he had said that American “ma-am.” Too many films and Jimmy Stewart.

“Sit down, Mr. MacKay. Would you like a drink?”

“I’d love a whisky if you have one.”

“Water, ice, soda-water?”

“Nothing, thank you. Just the whisky.”

She handed him the whisky and poured herself a coke. As she sat down she moved a cushion and then raised her glass, smiling.

“A happy Christmas, Mr. MacKay.”

“And to you, ma’am.”

“I expect my husband sent you down. What can I do for you?”

He put down his drink and looked at her face.

“No. I was sent down to see you by Chief Justice Elliot and Sam Bethel.”

She frowned. “I’ve already told Logan and Andrew Dempsey that I shall come up for the inauguration.”

“How well do you know Mr. Dempsey, Mrs. Powell?”

Her hand trembled as she put down her glass.

“Are you one of Dempsey’s people?”

“No.” And he repeated his question. “How well do you know Dempsey, Mrs. Powell?”

She shrugged. “I’ve known him for years. We all knew one another long before Logan and I got married.”

“What sort of man is he?”

“Handsome, rich, charming—a loner.”

“Did he have much influence over your husband?”

She looked down at her knees and flicked imaginary specks from her skirt. Then she looked up and as she spoke her voice trembled.

“More than I had, I’m afraid.”

“In what way?”

She looked at him. “Hadn’t you better tell me what this is all about?”

“There’s a problem concerning the relationship between Mr. Powell and Mr. Dempsey and we need your help.”

“Who’s we?”

“The Chief Justice sent me to ask your help.”

“Why didn’t he contact me himself or send a note with you?”

“I think you will understand when I have told you the problem.”

“You’d better explain then, rather than ask me questions.”

“May I ask you just one more question?”

She shrugged. “I guess so.”

“Would you help your husband if you could?”

She looked down at her empty glass and slowly put it on the low table between them.

“Probably. It depends.”

“It’s almost certain that he will be impeached, Mrs. Powell.”

Her hand went to her mouth. It covered her lips in a schoolgirl gesture. And when she spoke it was a whisper.

“I don’t believe it. Who are you, Mr. MacKay? This is some crazy game you’re at.”

“I’m afraid not. I’m a CIA officer. Would you like to see my ID card?”

“Yes. I would.” There was a lift of the pretty chin, and a distinct air of hockey-sticks.

He took out his wallet and then the card. He leaned over and slid it across the table to her. She leaned forward to look at it. Ostentatiously not touching it, as if it might be contagious. She looked up at his face.

“What’s it all about?”

As briefly as he could, he told her of Dempsey and Kleppe, and the Soviet network. Of Siwecki and Maria Angelo, and when he was finished she shook her head.

“I don’t believe it, Mr. MacKay. This is just political mud-slinging like Watergate. I don’t believe it.”

MacKay bent and picked up the white envelope. He squeezed open the end and checked its contents. He held it out to her.

“That’s Dempsey’s statement. We picked him up a few days ago. I could arrange for you to speak to him, or Mr. Speaker, or the Chief Justice.”

She unfolded the paper and started reading. MacKay sat silent and tense.

After the first two pages she read at random through to the end, turning the pages slowly as she read. Without looking at him she leaned forward and handed them back. She shook her head.

“I’m sorry, Mr. MacKay, I don’t believe it. It’s too far-fetched, too…” she shrugged, “…too extravagant. It’s politicians and I don’t trust politicians—any of them.”

“A lot of it has been checked, Mrs. Powell. His bank accounts and electoral contributions have been checked. It all tallies.”

“That can be forged or manipulated. That’s what the CIA is for, isn’t it?”

“Would you like to speak to Chief Justice Elliot?”

“No.”

“To Dempsey?”

“No.”

MacKay reached for the brown envelope and put it on his lap.

“You wouldn’t save him from this disgrace?”

“Good God, why should he listen to me?”

He looked at the flushed face and said softly, “Because you love him.”

She shivered as she stared back at him. But she shook her head.

“He wouldn’t believe me. He would say what I say. That it’s political mud-slinging.”

“There is other evidence that would be used.”

“Like what?”

He handed her the brown envelope.

“Like that. I’m sorry.”

She laid back the flap and took out the photographs. There were four, and she looked at each one a long time. Then she slid them back into the envelope, laid it on the table, and looked up at him.

“I guess those would be enough.” She said quietly.

MacKay sighed. “I’m terribly sorry that you had to be shown those things.”

“By courtesy of the CIA?”

“No, ma’am. Courtesy of the KGB. Dempsey provided the girl, and arranged the photography.”

“And who’s the lucky lady?”

“Dempsey’s girlfriend. One of them anyway.”

There was a knock on the door and her father put his head in.

“Would you two young people like a coffee?”

“No. It’s all right, Dad. We shan’t be long.”

She turned back to look at MacKay as the door closed.

“What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to come back to Washington with me. See your husband. Show him Dempsey’s statement, Kleppe’s statement and the summary. Convince him that if he doesn’t resign he’s finished. Politically and privately. And that for the country it would be absolute disaster.”

“When?” She whispered.

“Tonight. We’ll go by helicopter straight to Washington.”

She shook her head. “It’s incredible. It’s like some terrible nightmare.” She sighed. “I’ll tell Dad that it’s to do with the inauguration. He can look after Sammy.” She turned and rested her hand on his arm. “It is all true, isn’t it? It’s not some terrible plot?”

“No. It’s true, I’m afraid. Don’t hurry.”

Half an hour later she was ready, with a small case and list of instructions for her father. MacKay took the list and wrote out a telephone number and handed it to the old man.

“If you need to contact Mrs. Powell, sir, just get that number and ask for me. James MacKay. Don’t hesitate to phone if you need to. It won’t be more than a couple of days.”

She kissed the old man and turned to wave as they walked down the drive. The snow was thick and there was plenty more to come.

The car slid and lurched as they set off for the airport and MacKay prayed that nothing would happen to change her mind.

The snow-ploughs were working on the main runway and the chopper was nowhere in sight. A yellow truck came from the terminal building and turned in front of them and led them through caverns of snow to the far perimeter. The Cessna was there and its cabin lights were on. As MacKay pulled up a man stamped over and opened the door.

“Instructions from Langley, sir. You’re to go in the Cessna to Floyd Bennett and the Navy will take you in one of their big choppers. It’s a virtual blizzard.”

The Navy gave them coffee and sandwiches at Floyd Bennett and then they walked across to the big Navy helicopter.

Two ratings were holding the metal steps and one of the crew reached down for Laura Powell. The captain came back to speak to them both.

“It’s gonna take us quite a time and I may have to land once or twice to check things out. That’ll be at Trenton, Philly and maybe Baltimore. I’ll keep you informed.” He looked at MacKay. “We’ve got a radio net to Langley. I think they’d like to talk with you if you’d come forward, sir.”

The big curved door closed as MacKay went through, and the long shadows of the rotor blades flickered across the snow. The radio operator pointed to a metal seat and leaned forward to turn a dial. He took off the headset and passed it to MacKay.

“They’re on. A guy named Harper.”

The voice was faint at the other end, the signal surging from loud to zero.

“MacKay. Can you hear me, MacKay?”

“Yes. I hear you.”

“What’s happening?”

“Everything as arranged.”

“When do you arrive?”

“Nobody knows. It’s the weather. It’ll be five or six hours.”

“Anything you want me to do?”

“Yes, fix a bed for my passenger.”

“OK. I’ll meet you at Dulles. Anything else?”

“Fix an appointment for the passenger for the evening.”

“I can’t hear. Fix an appointment when?”

“For the evening.”

“OK. See you.”

MacKay went back to the cabin and fixed their seat belts, and saw an Aldis light flashing Morse from the control tower. Then the helicopter lifted and the airfield was way below them, lost in the swirling snow.

“Maybe by this time tomorrow it will be all over and you can be back home.”

“And you’re sure there isn’t some other way?”

“Only for him to be confronted by Elliot, Bethel and Harper.”

“What if Logan sends me away?”

“Then others will take over. And that will be the end for him.”

“He isn’t a bad man, my husband, just weak. He was carried away by Andy Dempsey. He would have made a good lecturer. What do Elliot and Bethel think of him?”

“It sounds ridiculous but I don’t think anybody has had time to think about him as a man.”

“And you?”

“I’m an outsider. And I’ve never met him.”

“If he hadn’t been so American maybe it wouldn’t have happened.”

“I don’t understand.”

“There used to be old films, nice films, where an ordinary man becomes President because he’s not a professional politician. It was generally Gary Cooper. And then there’s the winning. Americans have to win. So it can get that it doesn’t matter how you win. And all politicians are crooked.”

“What makes you think that?”

“They promise so much. And they know they can’t deliver. Washington is just a thieves’ kitchen.”

MacKay sat silently, hoping that his silence might calm her.

Then the pilot came back to them.

“We’ve been cleared through to Dulles. Let’s go.”

At Dulles, after a turbulent flight, Nolan was waiting for them at the house. He told her that she had the whole day to rest and sleep as he had arranged for her to see her husband at seven o’clock that evening.

She slept until four in the afternoon and then she bathed slowly and dressed carefully. At five she ate with MacKay and to her surprise the rest and the food seemed to have given her back her confidence. As they drank their coffee she said, “If Logan agrees to come back, to resign, what reason could he give that people would believe?”

“Medical grounds. We’ve checked his medical record. When he was young he had rheumatic fever. In some instances that can lead to heart trouble later in life. This will be one of those cases. We had already marked down a specialist from Johns Hopkins and a senior Navy heart specialist who could provide the details. He does have high blood pressure anyway.”

“Does he know that?”

“I guess so. He had to pay a special supplement on his life insurances. Not much, because it wasn’t serious. But enough for him to go along with the story if he wanted to.”

She looked at her watch. “What time do we leave?”

“Now, if you’re ready. Have you got the envelopes?”

“They’re in my handbag.”

“I hope you don’t need to use either of them.”

She turned to look at him. “I think we both know that it will be necessary. Both of them.”

Nolan sat with them on the back seat of the black Lincoln and it had all the air of a funeral cortège.

Nolan saw her look at the lit Christmas tree on the lawn at the side of the White House as they drove by to Powell’s hotel.